if I stare at the roof long enough
would i let it's ink
roll down over me ? 

my shape, pliant and waiting and 
rutting
tilting toward the certainty 
the cooing touch and strain
spreading stygian weight 
pressing down, down, and do...wn

coy and waiting with glistening teeth
brushing, roiling voice 
weight like a purring cinderblock
hands, too many to be real 
too deft to be human 
...

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bragging about them is natural

my main bedroom is enormous

or, you should see our kitchen

you've never heard such a fuss

the living-room where gran died

private places for lovers' trysts,

modern caves instead of holes

in hill-sides wreathed in mists

civilised now, flock wall-papered

aertexed ceilings, marble floors,

don't omit that prerequisite, an

exquis...

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raining cats and dogs outside

Ron's too heavy, nearly fainting

ceiling's cracked and peeling

needs plastering and painting

never enjoyed sex, orgasms

gave me  not a second look

up there that web of cracks

is not unlike reading a book

he's pumping like a good 'un

I nearly dropped off to sleep

surveying spidery fissures

a bit like counting sheep

mem...

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Bullets in the Ceiling
by, Melissa R. Mendelson

Two holes against plaster.
The nail is digging out,
and the white dust falls.
Like silent tears,
it falls into nothing.
Nobody knows a thing
unless they look up,
pause across
the bullets
in the ceiling.

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